


"I am not romantic, you know; I never was."

by AMarguerite



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 00:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite
Summary: A prompt from elucreh, for asexual, aromantic Charlotte Collins, and how she finds her happy ending.





	"I am not romantic, you know; I never was."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elucreh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elucreh/gifts).



When her father returned from his presentation to the king at St. James’s as Sir William Lucas, Charlotte’s world expanded. Mrs. Phillips, the wife of Meryton’s attorney, now invited her parents to her suppers and card parties instead of just nodding to them on the street. The Gouldings and Longs called upon them too. So many families did that at breakfast Sir William announced delightedly, “Why my dear Lady Lucas, we dine now with  _ four and twenty families _ ! Can you credit it?”

Lady Lucas, flushed and pleased, exclaimed, “My dear, this is all thanks to you!”

“Once the doors of St. James’s open to one, so do all the others,” Sir William grandly declared. “Is that not so, Charlotte? Would you not agree?”

Charlotte calmly did so.

“Mr. Bennet even called upon me,” Sir William said, which was admittedly quite a coup. Mr. Bennet was the principal landowner in the area, and very rarely left his property.  “Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennet will call upon you, Lady Lucas— and on you Charlotte!”

Charlotte had never had a particular friend and was eager to have one. The general expectation was that she and the eldest Bennet girl, Jane, would soon be intimates. Jane was sweet-natured and courteous, but her reserve made it difficult for Charlotte, who had always been more pragmatic than charming, to get to know her well. Charlotte traded receipts and advice with Jane, and always left Jane feeling that she, Charlotte, had been deeply, intently listened to and understood, but Charlotte could not say she understood Jane any better after any of these encounters. All she could truthfully say was that Jane Bennet was both very kind and very reserved. 

Indeed, as their friendship continued, Charlotte did discover one material fact about Jane Bennet: Jane was  _ romantic.  _

Jane was not  _ sentimental _ , but she grew dreamy-eyed over handsome young men and the heroes of novels in ways Charlotte never had. As the most beautiful young woman in Meryton, Jane was a much sought after participant in parlor games— particularly if they had kissing forfeits. After a particularly lively game of “Kiss if You Can,” where lady and gentleman sat back to back, before the gentleman turned to kiss the lady and the lady turned to elude him, Jane confided in Charlotte, “This is a pleasant way to pass a winter evening, is it not?”

It was not much of a confession, but  _ for Jane _ it was. Charlotte wished she could agree, or begin some expected discussion of which gentleman she had enjoyed kissing most. But… Charlotte had not enjoyed kissing any of them. She had expected as she grew older she would come to enjoy it, as everyone assured her she would come to enjoy dancing. As it was, kissing felt like a wetter version of shaking someone’s hand. She saw, in a philosophic way, how it strengthened the connection between individuals, but could not conceive of enjoying the activity for its own sake any more than she would go about shaking hands for the sheer pleasure of shaking hands. 

“It is more lively than other pastimes,” Charlotte offered weakly.

Jane shyly agreed and withdrew. 

Jane also enjoyed dances in a way Charlotte did not. Charlotte liked balls for the chance to see all her neighbors, to dress finely and to eat very well, but Jane liked the dancing itself. She seemed to approach balls with pleasure and eagerness, eyes always seeking her particular favorite, or, if she did not have a favorite among the scanty handful of unattached young men in Meryton, her thoughts turned inward, to a hero of fantasy that had yet to appear. 

Charlotte had been  _ out _ before her father’s ascension to a knighthood, and viewed the dances and dinners as the new social obligations of adulthood. She did not have opinions on them per se— that was, she understood the purpose of dancing but disliked the exercise. Charlotte often wished she did not have to take part, particularly since her only recourse at avoiding  _ a _ dance was to refuse, and then she had to sit out for  _ all  _ the dances. Charlotte did not like all or nothing propositions. One seldom found them anywhere else in life. 

After a social season of cordial acquaintanceship that did not progress to real intimacy, Jane’s younger sister Elizabeth made her come out. 

Though Charlotte had known of Elizabeth— had talked to her on visits to Longborn or seen her running wild about the woods and fields of Hertfordshire— the difference in their ages had forbid any real sense of friendship. But now that they were both out and unmarried, and part of the official society of Meryton’s five and twenty families of good breeding, that hardly seemed to matter. For Elizabeth was not romantic (or at least, was not yet) and she  _ was _ arch, lively, and clever. If she disliked a person, that person could seldom tell, for Elizabeth’s insults often masqueraded as compliments. If she liked a person, as she somehow liked Charlotte, there was no stopping the friendship. Elizabeth had decided that she and Charlotte were going to be particular friends, that Charlotte would be the Hero to her Beatrice, and the Cecilia to her Rosalind. They talked of everything: all the news of the neighborhood, the music or books they enjoyed, and the ridiculousness of their families.

“I do not understand why Mama is in such a rush to have Jane married,” Elizabeth said, as they were rambling about the countryside, one fine autumn day. “Jane is only seventeen, but really, Mama would have had Jane married at fifteen, when some friend of my uncle’s wrote love poetry to her.”

Charlotte’s first, pragmatic impulse was to ask, “Was the gentleman a business partner of your uncle’s?” 

Elizabeth laughed. “No, but he was also in trade, which is why Mama does not blame Jane for failing to secure him.” In a good, but slightly unkind parody of Mrs. Bennet’s voice, Elizabeth said, “Why, Jane is so beautiful I am sure she could marry a lord!”

Charlotte laughed herself. It was difficult to keep herself from laughing or smiling if Elizabeth was. 

“Besides, I think Jane liked the poetry more than the poet… though I do not know why. It is full of forced rhymes and the meter is very inconsistent. I shouldn’t like such verses. I thought at first Jane must have said it because she didn’t wish for Mr. Peacock to feel bad about his work— Jane is the kindest person I know— but she really does like them.” Elizabeth absently reached up for a low hanging tree branch and pulled it down, to see if there were any nuts to glean. “I have been thinking on it recently. My father said, at the time, that it was all very silly, but Jane is  _ not  _ a silly person. I think she must like the verses because they were written  _ for her. _ We all have to share so much that it is rather thrilling when something is made specifically for you and no one else.” 

This reasoning made sense to Charlotte, and also made her cling all the more to Elizabeth. At least there was someone in the neighborhood whose thoughts meandered down the same paths as her own— someone who did not just excuse a baffling action with ‘love’ or ‘romance’ and expect Charlotte to understand what that meant. 

 

***

 

It was on her four-and-twentieth birthday that Charlotte realized how very small her world was.

Lucas Lodge had begun to feel cramped, confined— too filled with siblings who shared her bedroom or interrupted her at her work in stillroom, kitchen, or parlor. She was getting older and no proposal had ever been made to her. The girls with whom she’d had her come out were now young matrons and mothers. The five and twenty families of quality would not alter; there could be no man of Meryton to offer for her. Charlotte thought of marriage pragmatically. She knew herself to be a good and careful housekeeper. She knew she could run any man’s home efficiently and well. She knew she could manage and raise children. And yet— men did not seem to choose partners based on those qualifications.

“It is an odd way of arranging the world,” Elizabeth agreed, as they picked blackberries. She was faster, but had fewer in her basket, for she often stopped to talk, or to eat what she had gleaned. Charlotte had quietly and steadily set to work and had nearly filled her basket. “Men have all the choice, women have only the right of refusal. If you  _ could  _ choose, Charlotte, what sort of a man would you choose to share your future?”

She would choose none, Charlotte realized. When she thought of an ideal future she always pictured room of her own, sunlit and quiet, where she could sit and think undisturbed. But this seemed too indulgent, an unnecessary luxury, and too strangely specific to be spoken aloud. Where would such a room even be located? “A man with a comfortable home,” Charlotte concluded. 

Elizabeth laughed. “I suppose that is a start. No sea captains or infantry officers for Charlotte Lucas! But what  _ sort _ of a man? Fair or dark, tall or short, clever or good-natured…?”

“I do not want a man,” Charlotte confessed.

But this was so strange a thing to say— even if she did not want a man, she needed one; she had been raised to marry one— Elizabeth of course misunderstood her. 

“You do not want any of Mertyon’s finest?” Elizabeth asked impishly. “Fie Charlotte! Such standards you have! But I confess, I would not have any of them either. I do not think I have yet met a man who would answer to my ideal.”

“Have you an ideal?”

“Yes and no,” said Elizabeth. “I am not Jane, but I do think— having seen how my parents get on… that is….” Elizabeth ate a handful of blackberries, to provide some excuse for a pause. “I do not think I could marry a man I did not respect, or a man who did not respect me.”

Respect Charlotte could understand. That seemed reasonable, especially for one of Elizabeth’s character. The liveliness of Elizabeth’s mind and the quickness of her tongue meant that unless she respected a man enough not to subtly sharpen her wits on him— or if he respected her enough to join in, and parry her conversational jabs— Elizabeth would turn any husband into a pincushion for the most barbed of her witticisms. One could not have a happy home if one felt constantly under attack. 

When Jane came out with her own basket she confessed, under Elizabeth’s spirited questioning, “I could not marry without affection.”

Respect and affection were different enough that Elizabeth directed a fondly exasperated look at Charlotte. Charlotte returned it but felt that their inability to agree with Jane’s opinion came from two different perspectives— indeed, so different that should they try and draw what they saw, no viewer would conclude that they had been looking at the same object. Elizabeth had yet to meet a man who caught her fancy; Charlotte was by now sure she would never meet  _ any _ .

Nor, she realized, did she particularly want to meet any. 

Charlotte did not know what to make of his new information about herself, for she had always known she must marry. What other options were there, besides becoming a drain on her family? 

 

***

 

That spring Elizabeth and Jane went to town, for the benefit of masters there, to make acquaintances among their uncle’s circles and to assist their Aunt Gardiner. They came back in new gowns, closer to each other than before, but no closer to matrimony. Jane had liked a few men but these were passing inclinations that frizzled out before seriously taking root. Elizabeth had fallen in love with the theatre. 

Though Charlotte had never gone through such a stage herself, Elizabeth had become fascinated by the queens of the Drury Lane theatre. She had playbills from the performances her aunt and uncle had taken her two, some engravings of her favorites. Charlotte was particularly struck by Miss Farren as Lady Teazle in  _ School for Scandal,  _ because Elizabeth said, “She has no keeper, you know! Nor any husband or father— she lives with her mother.”

Charlotte had not known. She hadn’t known that a woman could live without men. It fascinated her. But such a life was not without scandal. Elizabeth had asked her aunt to send on anything with Miss Farren in it, and one of her pamphlets purported that the chaste Miss Farren appeared to be in a love triangle, of sorts. The Earl of Derby had made his interest in Miss Farren very clear, and she had made it very clear she would not be his mistress. Though her partisans attributed this to virtue, her detractors now attributed this to a Sapphic passion for the Honorable Mrs. Anne Seymour Damer, a sculptress who had made a famous bust of Miss Farren.

Mrs. Bennet sniffed and said Elizabeth read too much, and would do better not to interest herself in tales of such scandal (though Charlotte and Elizabeth had caught Mrs. Bennet reading the pamphlets when she thought no one would observe her). Mr. Bennet gave Elizabeth a volume of Sappho’s poetry and refused to comment unless he thought of something sufficiently clever. Charlotte's own parents felt very awkward about the whole affair and determinedly did not comment on it. The aristocracy of England was above reproach, in their opinions. Any evidence to the contrary tended to bewilder them. 

Charlotte did not know quite what to make of it. To think that two women could love each other, as a husband and a wife did, bewildered her. She had never heard of such a thing. To think, then, that their love could manifest as a husband and a wife’s did… 

‘Am I such a person?’ Charlotte wondered. She did not like men, and the most important relationship she had, outside of her family, was her friendship with Elizabeth. But the thought of kissing Elizabeth didn’t have any more appeal than the thought of kissing William Goulding. 

Her mother had a copy of  _ Aristotle’s Masterpiece  _ on a shelf, to consult before, during, and after her frequent lyings-in, and Charlotte know took it down herself. The book itself had nothing to do with Aristotle, and having no actual relation to the Greeks, said nothing of their vices. Charlotte did feel rather bewildered by the opening chapters, nonetheless, for the author discussed the signs that Nature had caused a woman to desire coition. Charlotte had never desired it— indeed, she wondered if perhaps there was some imbalance in her humors to have brought on her menses without having brought on any desire to lay with a man. The description of the act did not cause any curiosity in her breast— indeed, she was more confused by it than anything else. But then she came across a passage that gave her more relief than anything else she had read: “Many women desire copulation, not from any delight or satisfaction they take therein, more than as it is the means appointed by Him that bids us increase and multiply, for the obtaining of children and the propagation of mankind.”

Charlotte put the volume back before anyone saw her looking at it and thought to herself, ‘Perhaps that is it then— I am not romantic, and I am too practical to wish for what I cannot have. If I cannot have children in the proper way, I have no desire to create them.’

 

***

 

When she turned twenty-seven, all Meryton was in an uproar. Netherfield had been let by a wealthy young gentleman from the north of England, with an income of five thousand a year, and he had brought with him a bachelor friend with an income of  _ ten _ . Every matron in the neighborhood tried to claim one or both of these for their daughters, and Lady Lucas did try to join the fray.

Charlotte did her best but knew from the first assembly that a twenty-seven-year-old woman who had never been beautiful, and whose youthful bloom was now faded, could not interest such men. Mr. Bingley had gone to Jane as soon as he had noticed her beauty, and Mr. Darcy made it very clear that he took no pleasure in the assembly, and that even the beauty of Jane and Elizabeth, held to be the prettiest girls in Meryton, left him unmoved. Charlotte had already thought it ridiculous that anyone had any expectations of Mr. Darcy, for a man with such an income surely expected to marry an heiress of equal rank. After seeing Mr. Darcy walk about the room, clearly bored and opening his mouth only to offend, the rest of Meryton soon came about to Charlotte’s way of thinking. Mr. Darcy was not for any of  _ their  _ daughters, and good luck to any tonnish young lady who wished to face  _ him  _ over a breakfast table forever. 

The arrival of these two men would have been enough to excite the fancy of all Meryton in an ordinary year, but then the militia quartered there for winter. Since Mrs. Bennet had so obviously staked her claim in Mr. Bingley, everyone else went mad for the redcoats. 

Charlotte did not, but that was hardly unexpected. Her opinion of men had fallen lower and lower every year she lived in the world. The more of the world she saw, the more she saw of man’s intemperance and unreason. But for a well-educated woman of little fortune, such as herself, there were no preservatives from want but that of marriage. There was no respectable mode of life for her that did not include her reliance upon one of these addlepated creatures in breeches. 

In the midst of all this bustle and confusion, Mr. Bennet decided there was not enough chaos, and invited his cousin, Mr. Collins, to Longbourne. Mr. Collins showed he had some sense by attaching himself to Elizabeth, and Charlotte could not fault his pragmatic way of approaching marriage. Mr. Collins was to inherit the estate at Longbourne and the current owner of Longbourne had five daughters. Marriage to one of them was eminently reasonable. After all, any of the Bennet sisters would already have a lifelong familiarity with the estate, how it was run, and what merchants supplied it and purchased its products. For a man who had not been brought up to run an estate, a wife who  _ could  _ was a necessity. 

Elizabeth was, of course, horrified by his attentions. She was not as romantic as Jane was, but she had her fancies and her favorites— and moreover, she was  _ clever _ . Clever women could not happily keep company with stupid men who thought themselves clever. Charlotte began to see that the pragmatism she had attributed to Mr. Collins in seeking a bride at Longbourne, had in fact been the pragmatism of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. 

Subtle hints to Mr. Collins that his suit would not be well received by Elizabeth were met with smiling incredulity. The stupidity with which nature endowed him had been enlivened by a dose of vanity, thanks to his expectation of an estate and the patronage of Lady Catherine. He understood, as Charlotte did, that the best a man could offer a woman was a good home, and he certainly could. Why would any woman refuse him?

But Elizabeth did.

When paying a visit to Longbourn shortly after Elizabeth’s refusal, Charlotte allowed Mr. Collins to talk at her instead of Elizabeth, or any of her family— an action made first out of friendship, and the desire to keep Elizabeth from an uncomfortable interview. But as she listened to Mr. Collins talk of himself, and of his house, and of his patron, Charlotte realized that Mr. Collins would marry anyone who could keep house for him. Charlotte _ was _ a good housekeeper.  He was a stupid man but given his references to Lady Catherine, easily led— and Charlotte began to think to herself, ‘Could I marry such a man? It would take very little to convince him he wished to marry me.’ 

Indeed, within three days he had completely transferred his passions— such as they were— from Elizabeth to Charlotte. 

It was impossible for Charlotte to describe her relief in accepting his proposals. Indeed, she almost forgot the pain this would cause Elizabeth— for when Elizabeth liked a person, she attributed to them all her own values. 

The first interview after the engagement was an awkward one. 

“Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte— impossible!”

Though Charlotte had expected this reproach, it still hurt her to know she had damaged her most important relationship in her desperate quest for security. “Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza?” This nickname was a holdover from Elizabeth’s adolescent fascination with Miss Eliza Farren, who had now retired from the stage to marry the Earl of Derby. But this reminder of their former closeness seemed to pain Elizabeth, rather than strengthen the frayed bond of friendship. Charlotte rushed on to protest that just because Mr. Collins had not succeeded with Elizabeth did not mean he could not succeed with another woman. 

Elizabeth politely recollected herself and wished Charlotte all imaginable happiness.

Charlotte tried for her usual composure but failing to grab hold of it, confusedly entered into Elizabeth’s feelings. But how to explain that she could not feel what Jane and Elizabeth considered so essential in a marriage partner? “I am not romantic, you know,” Charlotte ended up saying, in some desperation. “I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins's character, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state.”

Elizabeth quietly answered, “Undoubtedly.”

It grieved her that Elizabeth could not understand this, that Charlotte’s happiness did not depend on romance, or on the baser forms of attraction, for Charlotte knew she would never want those things. She had never had or would have favorites or flirtations. But she could not think of how else to explain this, and they parted in mutual awkwardness. 

 

***

 

Marriage to Mr. Collins was exactly what Charlotte had expected, which was  _ on the whole  _ good. The difficulties she foresaw were indeed difficulties, but what she could not change, she quietly ignored.

There was only one aspect of marriage she did not immediately know how to manage.

The parsonage was a snug one and they shared a bedroom. How often Mr. Collins expected her to try for a child was a delicate subject, for she knew however she framed the discussion would guide Mr. Collins to an answer. He had taken his rights the evening they were married, a hurried, somewhat awkward affair that Charlotte had neither liked nor disliked. The newness of the activity had seemed to exert some fascination for him which Charlotte did not share. She consulted her copy of  _ Aristotle’s Masterpiece  _ (a wedding present from her mother) _ ,  _ and tried to eat more salted and spiced things, to make herself feel some kind of desire for her husband’s embraces.

The honeymoon ended with her arrival in Huntsford, and so did her diet. It had not worked. She could not think of her marital duties as anything more than one of those Adult Pastimes that were necessary for the continuance of society, no matter the enthusiasm of the individuals participating. It was like going to church almost— though, as a clergyman’s wife this struck her as an inappropriately irreligious metaphor. Charlotte cast her mind over a better parallel as she was feeding her chickens. 

Perhaps it was better to say it was like dancing. She understood the social necessity of it, how these certain sets of movements could bring couples closer together, and how social cohesion relied upon people making these movements, in the same order, at the prescribed times, but, then again, she had never liked dancing. She would have been content to never dance again the whole of her life. 

But— there were children to think of.

Charlotte knew that was now one of her primary duties, after running Mr. Collins’s household, and she did like the idea of being a mother. Having so many younger siblings had well-equipped her for child-rearing. She consulted her book, her own inclinations, and decided that there was no reason for her to endure something she found dull any more than she had to. That evening she very carefully and calmly said to her husband, “I do not wish to fail in any duty to you— and to that end, I have consulted a book my mother gave me, to ensure that I will conceive.”

She paused then for the expected, impromptu sermon on the Biblical injunction to be fruitful and multiply, and the necessity of a clergyman to set a good example of this in his parish. 

“Here,” said Charlotte, taking down  _ Aristotle’s Masterpiece _ . “I have been studying this chapter in particular and am eager to hear your thoughts.”

Mr. Collins was a man eager to be thought learned without actually enjoying the act of reading. Charlotte took care to show him only a page of her book, and to underline the parts she wished him to particularly note. Mr. Collins was as easily lead as anticipated, and read aloud to her, “These amorous engagements should not be often repeated till the conception is confirmed.” He paused, considering this. If an idea was in a printed book, then it must be true. “Yes,” he at last said, “we must not risk these things, for an abundance of anything, even good things, can be injurious to one’s health. To glut oneself on sweetmeats often leads to indigestion.”

“If you think it right, I will abide by it,” said Charlotte. 

Mr. Collins was very pleased to find her of such ready understanding. He gave over to her the management of the house, and, finding his comfort increased thereby, did not object when Charlotte began to make alterations to the drawing room in the back of the house. The room faced the woods and not the lane, but that, Charlotte decided, made it ideally placed. There was no possibility of interruption by seeing Lady Catherine or Miss de Bourgh— and very little interruption from Mr. Collins, who of course, must always keep an eye on the lane, lest he fail in his civilities to his patroness. 

Charlotte began her work by taking out all the furnishings and helping the maids to clean it thoroughly. It was a small room, not quite the vast empty space she had daydreamed of amidst the noise and crowding of home, but it was  _ hers _ , hers to arrange as she wished. 

 

***

 

By the time her father, Maria, and Elizabeth had come to Huntsford, Charlotte had managed to arrange her life into a very tolerable order. For the first time, she was absolute mistress of her dominions. She had  _ her  _ pigs and  _ her  _ poultry and  _ her  _ home to manage. To also manage Mr. Collins was a small price to pay for this respectable existence, particularly since he saw how much he benefited from it and thanked her for it. 

Elizabeth was quiet at first, but then when Charlotte began showing her the house, Charlotte fancied she saw something like understanding in her dearest friend’s looks. And indeed, once Charlotte’s father had left, and Elizabeth saw how by careful management Charlotte kept Mr. Collins busy in his bookroom and garden, and kept herself in drawing room, the old impish look returned.

When Maria was out walking, Elizabeth looked about the drawing room, which Charlotte had now fitted and filled to her satisfaction and declared, “This is a most comfortable room.”

“It is, for all it does not face the lane.”

“Which must mean Mr. Collins does not prefer to sit in it.”

“No,” agreed Charlotte. 

“Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, and then she paused. 

“I told you, when I became engaged to Mr. Collins, that I was not romantic,” said Charlotte, who had spent months thinking of what she wished to say to Elizabeth, to try and explain her way of thinking. “I think— I do not know how else to express it. I could never understand Jane’s  _ tendres _ , or any of the romances in Shakespeare. I have not the drive that she does, or those heroines do. I do not understand romance, or want it. Nor have I— that is, I wish for children, and will endure what I must to get them, but I do not seem to have the desire for men’s embraces that other women do.”

She could tell Elizabeth was trying her best to understand this. “What do you desire, then, Charlotte?”

The notion of the empty room came back to her once again, as it had when Elizabeth had first asked her what sort of man she would prefer to marry. “Security,” Charlotte said. “A home of my own, where I am not made to feel crowded, or a burden.”

“And these you cannot get without a husband.”

“You know I cannot,” said Charlotte, smiling. “If I could, I would not— but this is the way of the world, and I have done my best with it.”

“I wish it were otherwise,” Elizabeth said, after a pause. 

“But it is not,” said Charlotte. “And I have fitted up the small space I have gained exactly as I wish it.”

“Then,” said Elizabeth, smiling in return, “I am honored that you let me in it.”

“ _ You  _ are always welcome,” said Charlotte, before looking about the drawing room with satisfaction. 

This room was her own. She had made it her own, to be shared with only those she wished. Charlotte sat in it, savored the quiet of the room and the nearness of her friend, and was happy. 


End file.
